


The Coveting

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Conditioning, Disturbing Themes, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Experimental, Forced Kissing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Touching, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Drama, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Stalking, Suspense, Thriller, Unreliable Narrator, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 06:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15528633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: After he’s kidnapped by a deranged stalker driven by a perverse desire to make himhis, sweet, innocent high school student Huang Renjun is thrust into a living nightmare of torment, obsession and depravity. Hanging by a thin thread as the very fabric of his sanity threatens to unravel and with little hope to escape, he struggles to survive in the claws of a man who will go to any length to possess him.Back at home, six boys are struggling to piece each other back together in the wake of their friend’s disappearance. With authorities powerless and the tragedy forcing each boy’s most crippling insecurities to the surface, the teens struggle to hold themselves together as a group whilst searching for answers where the police have failed them.





	The Coveting

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** This story is not for the faint of heart. Please be warned that it’s extremely creepy as it does not intend to romanticize or eroticize any of the dark themes brought up, and future installments will include many revolting elements. Reader discretion is advised.

_“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.”_

—  Humbert Humbert, **_Lolita_**  

 

❦

 

The forest seemed as though it stretched on endlessly, a dark void veiled in vegetation that saw no end, no matter how long or how diligently one searched- a thoroughly futile endeavor.

 

It was a daunting maze formed by nature’s own design, intimidating yet magnificent in its unyielding glory, growing luxuriantly, unconquerable, thriving. It was a fortress of surreally towering spruces like the bars of an intricate cage, casting looming shadows across the land and rearing towards a greying sky as if to pierce the heavens, the faint rumble of an impending tempest making the scene all the more suspenseful.

 

A willowy silhouette, pale and fair and glowing like a string of pearls against the dark surrounding it, flitted through the shadows of the unforgiving forest with immaculate fluidity as though on wings, shining like a little beacon in the darkness.

 

The fay-like form was veiled in a tapestry of innocent baby blue and topped with a golden halo, moving with a seemingly inherently- _effortlessly_ \- elegant sort of lightness as though it weighed little more than a mere feather fluttering in the cooling summer breeze.

 

It was a clash of purity and despair, of beautiful ethereality and inevitable doom, like the very contents of a tragic fairytale playing out against the backdrop of a forest-centered horror story.

 

Upon closer inspection, the lithe form was that of a young boy — sandy blonde hair and fair skin; thin, doll-like frame drowning in an oversized powdery blue sweater which hung messily off one shoulder, reaching all the way down to pale, svelte thighs marred with bruises dyed pastel against the creamy complexion.

 

The youth ran as though his life depended on it, gasping desperately for air but with no sign of pausing, twig-like legs and bare feet scraped, bruised and bleeding from the roughness of earth, rocks and branches piercing, _scraping_ , porcelain skin like crushed needles; but he cared not, clumsily, exhaustedly flitting through the trees with a vigor that seemed greater than that of which such a frail body should be capable.

 

The little thing rounded the broad clawlike roots of a fallen tree and sprinted for a few metres before lunging down, almost crawling as it crouched behind a large boulder resting against a particularly dense cluster of trees, as if to hide from something- or some _one_.

 

The trembling little thing made for a heart-wrenching image of shaky, narrow breathing and the twinkle of tears shining down chiseled cheeks, the blackness of pure unadulterated _dread_ swimming in those wide doe eyes framed by long, tear-drenched lashes; a terrified desperation which seemed jarringly out of place against such delicate, ethereal features.

 

For a couple of moments that may have constituted entire lifetimes in the terrified youth’s desperate mind, it was eerily quiet, with only the faint sound of creaking branches rustled by the wind and the odd screech of a crow above disrupting the silence.

 

He sat there for a moment, covering his rosy lips with a dainty hand as if to stifle sobs, though with his ragged breathing and the uncontrollable tremors raking through his lithe frame, any sobbing in his current condition would be difficult to decipher.

 

Then, the foreboding crunch of crushed twigs too brutish to be attributed to a deer or other animal cut through the faux serenity the babe had surrounded itself with and the helpless one visibly flinched, petite body now shaking violently as if on the brink of hyperventilation.

 

Still unable to calm down its uneven breathing, the little one stilled as much as its trembling body was capable of in its current state, listening carefully like a little mouse after its predator. A few moments passed, and, as if believing the danger was momentarily over and the predator was on to a different track, the lithe form slowly rose to its feet.

 

_One. Two. Three._

 

Then, with an air of defiance which seemed uncharacteristic of a creature trembling so hard it could hardly even stand up lest it risk collapsing, the petite male took a leap and then ran as fast as his frail body could manage.

 

Blindly hurrying as though each miniscule movement were a prayer for help, solace, _anything_ , as helpless and disoriented as a newborn kitten he ran, just ran for all his fragile life could possibly be worth, grasping for nothing as the ever-encroaching darkness of the maze-like forest welcomed him.

 

A single gunshot rang through the air.

 

❦

 

He was a beauty.

 

Everything about him was fair, elegant and so, _so_ beautiful. His mussed sandy blonde hair looked so soft and silky to the touch, mending beautifully with his creamy fair complexion alight with a natural radiance and those wide, intelligent doe eyes framed with impossibly long lashes, gleaming like molten gold in the faint light of the dance studio. His features were delicate and impossibly doll-like. The man studying the specimen reverently, sat by a computer in a dimly lit room, had had to ask himself on numerous occasions if perhaps he were merely dreaming or hallucinating about a doll when treated to a glimpse of the beauty’s stunning visage, but no, this creature was truly a living, breathing entity of flesh and blood.

 

His slight form was extraordinarily small, thin and petite, a seraphic elegance about the way the svelte beauty carried himself which seemed to flow from his very core all the way out to thin, delicate fingers and dainty feet, tiny toes pointed resolutely as he danced.

 

Such ethereal beauty could not truly be ascribed to a mere human, much less a boy; and so, the very essence of the little waif’s being confirmed to the man his suspicion that no, this was indeed no mere adolescent. It was something shining, beautiful and pure and otherworldly, an illustrious jewel against a world made up of worthless, dull rocks — although comparing the creature to any other person would be blasphemous, for he was no human, the man had concluded, but a nymph, a siren; a being too beautiful and enchanting to be likened to that of any other.

 

Oh, how the babe could _dance_ , pretty little ballerina moving with grace too pure and airy to be considered human; rather, it was like the fluttering dance of a radiant butterfly, beautiful in its frailty, the very physical manifestation of elegance and resplendence. The pretty little thing danced as though he were Odette herself reincarnated.

 

The teen regularly posted little snippets of his dancing to his Instagram account, to which the man had long set an alarm in order to be notified the second the pretty boy posted, liked or commented something and should one follow the nymphet with a fraction of the diligence the man’s devotion entailed, it would soon be evident that ballet was not the only artform the youth practiced.

 

His singing voice was unlike any other the man had heard before; while the teen mostly posted things related to ballet, art and everyday life to his profile, he had posted clips of himself showcasing his beautiful vocals on a few occasions and his voice was silky, sweet and succulent just like every other aspect of his being the man had come to know. In some posts or even livestreams he would sing all by himself while in others one of his friends would accompany him on the guitar or piano.

 

(Of course he preferred when it was just the boy himself singing, but he was willing to admit that in the few clips where the babe was harmonizing with one particular friend — the annoying, touchy one whose usual speaking voice sounded as though his tongue were too big for his mouth — the little performance had its own unique charm to it, begrudging as it was for the man to indirectly commend the other boy’s skill.)

 

The youth was an artist, too, painting exquisite artworks with entire universes to be detected in each and every brushstroke across the canvas. He occasionally took commissions to afford things like birthday presents for his friends as school and ballet took up most of his time and getting another part-time job was out of the question per his doting parents’ orders. A few of those commissions hung on the wall right behind the man — all acquired through different emails, PayPal accounts and credit cards, of course.

 

The babe also had a penchant for photography, freezing moments with a flash to create colorful images that told entire stories. The pictures lacked a certain finesse and were visibly taken by a steadily improving amateur, but the man judging had a particularly trained eye and it just made the little houri's efforts all the more endearing to him. It was also complementary to the man’s own interest in filming, in capturing desirable moments he wished to have locked down by his own hand- it was _perfect_.

 

The pretty thing’s account wasn’t just strait-laced performance, either. He would also post pictures of food, animals, completely random things that gave a brief glimpse into his mind and best of all his pretty, _pretty_ selcas - all things a treat to the eye and to the soul. Sometimes he would post snippets or even livestream himself just playing around in the studio and doing what he himself seemed to believe were silly or parodic things, but in truth the impulsive little glimpses into the youth’s life showcased both his innocence and seductive charm, from the way his every movement flowed so effortlessly as though he were still dancing, to his endearing laugh that tinkled like crystal and the way he would coquettishly flutter those long lashes at the camera in a would-be parody of a flirtatious gesture should the gesticulation not have incited man’s deepest desires by the bewitching virtue of its allure.

 

But disappointingly, the doll and his artworks weren’t the only things pictured on his profile. There were pictures of other teenage boys, too- some slightly younger, some slightly older and some born in the very same year as the nymph himself. The man knew because he had taken the time to look them up as well, just to keep himself updated should it come in handy (despite his opinion on each of them ranging from apathetic to downright spiteful).

 

In some ways, he knew he should be grateful because he knew what he was dealing with, what he had to take into account in order to take all the necessary precautions to bring his plan to fruition. But he couldn’t help it, seeing the measly youths interacting with the object of his fascination, so nonchalantly talking and smiling and _touching_. Seeing the foolish teens so easily engaging with his prize-to-be awoke the wrathful flare of jealousy from the darkest depths of the man’s core and there was one boy in particular he loathed more than anything else.

 

The boy in question was broad-shouldered and well-built, conventionally attractive with dyed platinum blonde hair that contrasted his warm complexion well along with the strong, masculine strokes of his handsome face that belied his tender age; but to the man, this boy was the most loathsome thing of all.

 

The relationship between the two had seemed innocuous at first, but through the flow of various posts, comments and finally one ill-fated livestream, it was made evident that the “bond” — the mere thought of it made the man feel sick — the beauty shared with this boy was not as mere friends. The live video started innocently enough, with smiles and laughter and casual touches but soon devolved into a display of intimacy that should not have ever had the chance to unfold, followed by a sweet kiss between the two youths that may have seemed chaste and pure in anyone but the man’s eyes, ending with the nymph snuggling up close to the taller boy to offer a giddy declaration of their now-official relationship to his hundreds of followers. The short video had since been added to the album as a permanent reminder of that day, as if mocking the man.

 

He had been furious to say the least, a sizeable hole in the wall and scarring all over his fist a testament to his rage.

 

Not long after that livestream the little minx had made an excitable post with a picture of a silvery necklace featured with a pendant in the shape of a ‘J’, embellished with tiny white rhinestones and a round sapphire blue gem in its upper right corner. Of course it was a gift from his loving boyfriend and he had worn it proudly every day since, a physical manifestation of their puppy love.

 

But to the man it was no mere gesture of a selfless love. To him it was a show of possession, an exertion of dominance which the platinum blonde boy had no business expressing, a challenge he had no right to pose for he had no claim over the houri no matter how he should delude himself; and in the near future, the man would be making that abundantly clear— _brutally_ , if need be.

 

The man was tracing the outline of the beauty’s dollish features over his computer screen, imagining for a moment that supple, silky skin under his calloused fingertips. He imagined combing his fingers through those silky blonde tresses, caressing those petal pink lips before pushing the digits past the rosy tiers to stroke and explore the inside of his tiny mouth before replacing them with his own lips and tongue. His mind and body were ablaze with the desire to touch, claim and possess the little waif psychologically and physically, in the deepest, most meaningful and most intimate ways… to become one with the little nymph who held the man’s very soul in a small, dainty hand.

 

Call his love obsessive, selfish or perverse; it did not matter.

 

Soon, nothing would matter, nothing outside of the two of them. He needn’t endure the sight of all those people touching his nymphet much longer, for soon all would be prepared for him to pursue his well-deserved prize at last.

 

Soon, his raison d‘être would be fulfilled.

 

Soon, he would be holding the very meaning of life in his hand.

 

Soon, the boy would be his and only his.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Although there will be a lot of focus on NoRen due to the nature of the fic, all of the Dream members will be main characters. They're all equally important to the plot. Please keep the second paragraph of the summary in mind.


End file.
